Page 2 of Rage & Paradise
“Yeah, not the kind of wet I’m into,” I mutter.
“Shut your mouth.”
“Don’t talk to me?—”
I crank on the shower before she can finish. Water blasts her right in the face.
“I warned you,” I say, chuckling.
She flails, sputtering as the spray hits her mouth.
“Diablo,” Lisette scoffs from behind me. “You could’ve at least let her take her clothes off first.”
“She doesn’t need to be naked to get that mess off her.”
The cold water sobers her a bit, enough for her to stumble out of the shower. Lisette grabs her and helps her out of the room, leaving me standing there alone, drenched in steam and frustration.
When I finally step out, Lisette lingers by the doorway, eyes traveling slow over me. Her lips curve into that practiced smile, the one she uses when she wants something.
“You know,” she says softly, leaning her shoulder against the frame, “you clean up pretty good, Oro. A little rough around the edges, but that’s how I like ’em.”
I don’t bother looking at her. I can feel her gaze slide down my chest, the heat of it pressing against my skin like a test. She pushes off the wall, takes a step closer. “You ever gonna let me see what’s under all that attitude?”
“Not tonight,” I answer flatly, brushing past her. I can smell her perfume, cheap and sweet, mixing with the cleaner from the bathroom. I don’t stop. I don’t look back.
Behind me, she laughs under her breath, that fake, taunting sound. “Suit yourself, papi. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”
I keep walking, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction. I’ve got enough shit to clean up for one night.
Silence hums for a second, the kind that settles deep in your bones when the adrenaline fades.
I head to my room, grab fresh clothes, scrub myself clean. When I step back out, the bass from the reggaeton track still rattles the walls. I almost feel normal again.
Maybe I can salvage the night. Maybe find someone who’s actually conscious this time.
But something in me feels off, like my luck’s gone stale.
“Pendejo, you think you got a fucking maid around here?”
AZ’s voice cuts through the music before I even see him. He grabs my collar and drags me right back to the spot where the woman hurled earlier. The puke’s still there, gleaming under the lights.
If it were anyone else, a prospect would’ve been called to clean it. But me? Guess not.
“I was coming back to it,” I snap, my patience gone. I can feel eyes on me, brothers, hang-arounds, everyone watching like I’m still just the fucking errand boy.
No one takes me seriously.
I’m desperate to change that.
So I grab the mop, clean up the mess as fast as I can without ruining my fresh clothes.
The party roars on around me, but I can’t bring myself to join back in. The laughter, the music, it all sounds like static now.
I head back to my room and drop into the lone chair in the corner.
There’s no one I can talk to about this shit. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. You don’t complain after earning your patch. You don’t whine about respect you haven’t fully earned yet.
I’m grateful. I really am.
